


I Think of You in Colours That Don't Exist - At Least Not For Me.

by whatamidoingwithmylife



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blind Harry, Fluff, I Don't Even Know, M/M, This was inspired by The Way He Looks btw, but in my head it is, colour, i like it when things are a thing, i'll stop now, if Harry was blind, is blind Harry a thing, it's just about colours actually, it's not even about the boys, just fluff, there's not much to say actually, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 23:02:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2485457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatamidoingwithmylife/pseuds/whatamidoingwithmylife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few things you need to know before reading this: you are a person who is very much in love with a boy who has green eyes and was born blind - you try to tell him what colours are.</p><p> </p><p>Or "what I feel about you is green, what I feel about us is pink".</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Think of You in Colours That Don't Exist - At Least Not For Me.

**Author's Note:**

> There are a few things I need to say before you read this. I didn't write the boys' names, or anyone else's name for that matter, in this story. I wanted to write something different and names just felt pointless, but I thought about Harry and Louis while writing it so it's them. 
> 
> But you can pretend it's not, if you want. It's my story but it's a little bit yours from now on as well so you can choose your own characters. 
> 
> Or better, you can be a character. 
> 
> Or Louis. You can be Louis.

My mom used to help me choose my clothes when I was younger. And then my sister when she told me that a teenager boy was not allowed to wear only what his mom told him to wear, so she made me her project. She told me she would turn me into a cool hipster and that everyone I met would want her to choose their clothes as well - "they'll be so jealous that you have me as a siste and they don't". Since people told me I looked nice, I didn't mind. But you already know that, don't you? And now you are the one I trust to help me choose my clothes when I don't feel like searching for the tiny differences in them. 

"What band do you feel like wearing today, sweetcheeks? Or what colour?", is your question for me.

I want to reply that it doesn't really matter to me. It almost never does. But I stop myself because, if everybody else cares, I should as well, shouldn't I? But why would someone want to wear a specific _colour_? And since you are always so, so patient with me and so very good at teaching me things no one else can (remember when you taught me how to ride a bike at the very young age of seventeen?), I can't help myself from asking you the same question I asked so many people before, but they never gave me an answer I felt satisfied with so I just gave up eventually. Maybe you can make me comprehend, can't you?

“What is colour? I mean, I think I get the idea but I don't understand it. No one ever explained it to me before. At least not in a way that I could really _know_ what it is.”

I hear your steps getting closer and I hear you sitting next to me. You take a few deep breaths and I can almost feel the frown that is certain to be on your forehead but I don't dare to touch it because every time you got silent after a question and I did it, you would tell me not to because it means you are trying to concentrate and you are not able to do that with a gigantic hand covering your head - not that you complain when my gigantic hand is covering other parts of your body.

After a few seconds you start playing with my curls and tell me that if I already know the concept, you will make me understand the essence of it. So you explain to me that colours are emotions and that they are painted by us every second we are alive, with every word said, with every thing done. We change our colours and we create new colours. 

You tell me that before we met your life was mostly beige (“Beige is something soft but dull. A few people think it's boring but I think that the problem with it is that it lacks life. You know, when you exist but you don't really _live_ ”) but that you didn't realize it until you found green – the colour of my eyes, you tell me. 

I’ve been told before that my eyes are green but never like the way you tell me. You say you can see different shades of green in my eyes and that you love every single one of them. You tell me that green is the scent in the air when the first drops of rain touch the soil beneath our feet. It is pure, fresh and full of life, because it is the colour of healthy leaves and nature, so it means it makes you feel big and young as well.

It's known that nature is extremely important to our lives and you tell me I feel just as important; you feel that you have to protect me because I'm just too precious for you – precious like emeralds, which are also green. 

You say green reminds you of new opportunities and new beginnings. I remember people telling me that I should wear green for luck and you tell me that's exactly how you feel when you are with me: lucky. You tell me green gives you peace and it gives you hope. You remind me that it means “go” on the streets and that I make you feel like you never want to stop. 

“Do you remember the day we ran in the park?” How could I forget? We ran until our feet got numb and we had no control over it. We ran until my lungs forgot the taste of oxygen and my insides burned with cold. It was the best feeling because I could feel you running next to me. I could hear you laughing. I didn't know where I was going - where _we_ were going - but I knew it was okay because you were with me. “Well, that felt green for me”, you state. You say that we ran until we forgot why we started running in the first place. But you thought that it didn't matter because you never wanted to stop, as long as we were running together, and, apparently, that is something very green to feel.

And now, although you see green, you tell me you feel pink. I'm not sure how you can see one colour but feel other but I will let you finish.

But of course you can read it in my face just like I can listen to things in your voice. We are good at figuring each other like that.

"What I feel about you is green, what I feel about us is pink."

You say you feel pink when I say something nice and it is the first colour to appear in your cheeks before it gets darker and turns red (“You know the heat you feel sometimes when you're embarrassed? Except it is not because I'm embarrassed.”). 

You tell me most people think that red is the colour of love but you do not agree. Red is brighter and more intense. It represents fire. Red is passion because passion burns and then goes out. Love is not about desperate feelings; it's about deep and sweet ones. For you, pink is kindness, softness and love. It also reminds you of innocence and childhood, and you think people need to have innocence to believe in love in times like these. You tell me that every time you feel pink you feel something nice and warm spreading through your body and filling parts of you you thought would remain empty forever.

By your definition, I feel pink too. It's in my fingertips taking trips on your skin and on your mouth connecting the dots you tell me exist on my body. It's there when you whisper soft words in my ears. It's what I feel every time I try to read your beauty and the stories written on your scars like I learned to read dots on a piece of paper. I can feel it pushing the corner of my lips up when your lips kiss the tip of my nose and I can feel it hugging me when we are doing nothing at all but I can hear you breathing next to reminding me that I am not alone. And even though you told me that laughter is more of an orange or a yellow, all I can feel when I make you laugh is pink.

But a light tone, according to you. 

I ask what the difference is and you reply by asking me if, sometimes, the darkness I know is not always the same tone. Sometimes it's darker, like at night, and sometimes it is lighter, like when the sun kisses my face. But no, it is never different for me. Okay, so you will try to explain it differently. Thank you for that. You say that all colours have different tones because they are made of different colours. Or maybe colours are like voices. Yes, just like voices. We can recognize a man's voice but every man has a different timbre, which does not mean that their voices stop being men' voices only because they are slightly different.

You also inform me that most people see colours a little bit different than others – while some can't recognize a few tones, others can assimilate more than most people – so I should not, in any way, feel bad about not seeing them. For you, what matters is that, even though I can't see you, I _see_ you. I understand you. And I can relate because that's exactly how I feel. Because other people can see me, but they never really _saw_ me. Just my lack of sight caught their attention. You were the first person that talk to me like I could hear people chatting at bars and cafés. It was like it didn't matter that I coudn't see you. You didn't even mentioned the fact that I was blind on our first conversation and that was so refreshing. That is one of the many reasons why I am thankful for meeting you.

And, thinking about it, maybe if I were to see, I would see colours different than what you see and I don’t know if I would want that, but you interrupt me and simply say that what a colour makes you feel is what really matters, not if it is the same as others see it, just like songs. 

"It's like a song, right? Everybody listens to the same song but not everybody likes it. Some people will think that it is okay, others will say it is their favourite song and will love it because it speaks to them somehow and a few, or a lot, of people will refuse to even listen to it. But at the end of the day it is still the same song, just how people feel about it that is different, love."

I think I am starting to understand what you are trying to make me comprehend. Okay, let me try it then. Tell me the colour of your eyes. 

Blue. 

I should have guessed it, shouldn't I? 

Just to be sure, I ask about the shades of blue and you explain to me that the light ones usually calm people down and the darker ones are more mysterious like the night sky. I can hear the hidden laughter in your voice, like you don't think it suits you, but I think it does. Both do. 

People tell me that the ocean is blue and that the sky is blue. For me you are just as big as them. Not that I don't feel like everything that I can't touch completely is not big, but since people who can see think they are big, I think they are infinite. And I am so scared of swimming in the sea or flying (by plane, since I haven't got wings). I always fear that I will disappear and no one will be able to find me again, but I don't let it stop me. Yet, somehow, I am not afraid of getting lost in you. People will never know everything about the oceans and the more people find out about space the more they realize that they will never discover all of its mysteries, but they will never, never stop trying. That's how I feel about you. I know it's impossible to know everything about you and sometimes I feel that you are so, so endless, but I'll never stop trying because it will never feel enough and I'll never get enough of you. So I lose myself in the galaxies inside of you while your waves keep pulling me in, deeper and deeper, even though I would never try to get away. 

The light blue is when I feel sad or the thoughts in my head run around too loud and too noisy inside of it and you hold me in your arms and your embrace is like a blanket of blue. Suddenly everything is better. I know it doesn't solve my problems, but it makes me think clearer - like a good morning sky, I've been told. 

People always say they cannot see the wind, only feel it. I feel the wind but I can't understand how they cannot see it. It feels blue to me. You agree with me, it does feel blue to you too, but you still are not able to see it, only how it makes things move. Lately, you are the wind that makes my green leaves dance and search new places. I was stuck in a tree until you came.

Your touch always calms me as well. When I'm somewhere new and your hand is holding mine, drawing invisible circles with your finger, I don't have to hide the same amount of fear that I would have if you weren't there. Because I am scared most of the time. I've been scared for most of my life. It's not easy to walk around places where things are constantly moving and people are never the same. I don't know what to expect. But hearing your voice by my side grounds me 'cause the dance moves flow better when you are the song and the one guiding and dancing with me.

I don't know what to say about your voice because it makes me feel blue, but it also makes me feel pink. Is it possible to feel the way two different colours make you feel at the same time? Feelings are complicated and maybe so are colours. I like to think that what I feel for you is a colour that does not exist, or that if it does, we are the only people that are able to feel it. What do you think?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this. I know it's too short and I almost didn't post it because of that but I think that if I wrote too much it would become boring to read. I can be wrong but that's how I felt.  
> I got this idea after I watched The Way He Looks and I then I just couldn't stop thinking about how do people explain things that are almost inexplicable to people who were born blind and I watched a lot of videos on youtube by TommyEdisonXP (his videos are great and his Instagram is better than mine, which I find extremely sad for me since he is blind) before I had an idea of what I wanted to write about. My friends are wonderful people who I am thankful for and appreciate them for really thinking about the question "what is your favourite colour and why?". I bugged so many of them with that question because I think that if you like a colour that is because of what it makes you feel and if that is the feeling you can relate to most, then that probably says a lot about you and I wanted it to be shown in this story and I wanted it to feel real. Or I can be wrong. But if you have the time I would love if you could tell me yours and why.  
> Thank you for reading it (again) and also for taking the time to read the notes because this is just ridiculously long for notes by now. Xx.


End file.
